


Let us never speak of this...

by ladyofdragons



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 08:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofdragons/pseuds/ladyofdragons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crack fic happens, usually on a whim. Like with this one, inspired but <a href="http://ladyofdragons.tumblr.com/post/22757766145/so-crack-fic-was-born-because-of-this-picture-and">THIS IMAGE</a> of Bunny!Prowl which is mildly NSFW.</p><p>I did not make a beta suffer through this cracktastic piece of work, read at your own risk (at least it's short?). Written May of last year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let us never speak of this...

The glow of neon signs called out the names of the various establishments lining the Cybertronian boulevard. Mostly entertainment facilities, clubs, a few bars, a shop or two, all of them a little on the seedy side. This was not exactly the best part of town, though Jazz noted it did get a lot worse even lower down. Here at least, he was more likely to get propositioned than mugged. The map in his internal HUD pinged, revealing his destination to be just up ahead. A small place by the look of it, a club, the violet sign flickering wanely in the evening light while some shameful excuse for music floated out the open shutters.

Jazz lifted an optic ridge. Pure, bare-faced curiosity was what brought him here. When he’d first overheard the rumor in the Academy cafeteria he’d laughed it off with the rest, but there was something in that little red mech’s tone--Cliffjumper he recalled--and the way he cast Jazz a cryptic eye from across the room. The rumor had nagged at him until he finally decided he needed to dispel it, if only to be rid of the distraction.

Jazz pushed his way through the door of the establishment, no security or waiting line in evidence--and really, why weren’t mechs coming in droves to patronize this place?--and surveyed the premises. The lighting was poor, though that was notably in the clientele’s best interests. Many of mechs in here had seen better days, while others hadn’t been much to look at from the very start. The bartender appeared equally worn, setting optics on Jazz briefly before going back to chatting with a patron. Small tables were scattered around the room while a low stage hunched opposite the bar, the purpose for which Jazz didn’t care to speculate on. The dim lighting did plenty to hide the amount of... culture staining the floor, but nothing to prevent said elements from sticking to his footplates.

“Wow, lookit this dive...” Jazz huffed quietly, “I gotta be in the wrong place.” He shook his head and turned to leave--only to be halted at the last minute by a flash of red on white that caught his eye. He turned back, swiveling slow, the bright violet light reflections dragging across his visor as he pinned his optics on the figure serving drinks in the back of the room.

Jazz cycled through his optical spectrum once, just to be sure there was no malfunction. The mech’s features however, even from the back, were unmistakable. The telltale white and black pattern, the red light bar, even the small tips of the red chevron visible over the back of the mech’s head as he nodded to the patrons before him.

The edge of Jazz’s mouth twitched as he moved slowly across the room with a quiet grace that made other Academy mechs envious. As he grew closer a peculiar gesture caught his attention, the other mech’s hand reaching back and... tugging at something on his rear hip plating. The motion shifted a ball of fluffy whiteness that seemed to perch on his aft. ...Curious. Then Jazz noted the swing of a two dark silhouettes rising high over the mech’s head that look like--wait, _what in the Pit_ was he wearing!?

Jazz’s soft chuff of air was full of bemused shock but it also gave away his position, only a few steps behind the serving mech. The other turned, expression falling into dismay as heat rose high on his face plates, door wings drooping, the serving tray in his hand curling in toward his chest as if that might give him some protection from the onlooker, his classmate, and likely the last person he wanted to have standing here in this establishment.

“Prowl, mech,” Jazz spread his hands and a gave sympathetic shake of his head, neon glinting off his visor, “I know the Academy’s tuition is high but if ya needed credits,” he implored, “why didnya just _ask_?”

  


_Moral of the story: Young mechs who do desperate things should be sure all photo evidence is later destroyed._


End file.
